


wild animal (livin' like a fine young cannibal)

by shardmind



Series: You wish I was yours, and I hope you are mine [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood Kink, F/M, I'm so sorry, Public Display of Affection, Vampires, Well... almost, also, also i am under a lot of stress and wanted 2 make my babies kiss, and the title is from the run the jewels remix of lorde's supercut, this is essentially a retelling of the blade 1 blood rave scene and i refuse to apologise for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-22 03:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shardmind/pseuds/shardmind
Summary: An abandoned warehouse wouldn't be Emma's first choice for a date location. Killian finds a way to convince her otherwise.(rating changed from hard t to soft m, just in case 💕)
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Series: You wish I was yours, and I hope you are mine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602181
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	wild animal (livin' like a fine young cannibal)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in less than a day, under the awesome cheerleading of [Sara](https://darkcolinodonorgasm.tumblr.com), and my #1 girl [Salem](https://artistic-writer.tumblr.com) made some KILLER art for it which you can see [here](https://shardminds.tumblr.com/post/190236329023/wild-animal-livin-like-a-fine-young-cannibal)! Thank you so much, ladies!!!! 
> 
> This is for everyone that thinks Killian Jones would look good with fangs. I'm starting a fan(g) club, do y'all want in?
> 
> (title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HhMvtKtD_g) remix)

He’d told her to dress, as he so bluntly phrased it, good enough to eat. She’d tried her best to adhere to the code, pairing her favourite leather mini skirt and a thin camisole with fuck-me heels and fishnets. She’d foregone a jacket, knowing that Killian would lend her his if the chill became too much. The way his leather hangs off her, arms just slightly too long but still soft and worn, is one of the pros of having a boyfriend impervious to the cold. Regardless, the main appeal of her outfit isn’t practicality, it’s the fact that at least three of the souvenirs Killian has blessed her with are proudly on show—one at the juncture of her neck, another on her inner wrist, and another just peeking from beneath the hem of her skirt. They catch in the streetlights, glowing temporarily in the luminescence as her Uber trails the city streets, en route to the address he’d texted. There are others, countless others, along her ribs, her breasts, her thighs, faint scars she’d asked him for, a curse on his breath every time she did. 

Emma never thought she’d be into it, the territorial possession that comes with having a vampire for a lover, that is. In the past, she rebuffed it, not willing to be taken as anyone’s property, human or otherwise. She’d told Killian the same, at first, unafraid of the fangs he flashed with each smirk. He respected her wishes, kept his distance, with the promise of forever in his eyes and one night on his lips. Over time, something about him drew her in, no glamour or coercion, just… something else, a kind of other that intrigued her, in the depth of his eyes and that knowing smile. 

Then again, she’s always had a thing for older guys.

Three arduous weeks later, she’d fucked him in the bathroom stall of a club she can’t remember the name of and delighted in the awestruck look on his face as she sank to her knees before him. 

It’s a fond memory. 

And it was never just one night.

The warehouse is shady at best, murderous at worst, and Killian greets her at the entrance. Everything about him is appealing, from the artful dishevelment of his hair and the dark silk of his shirt, right down to the snug fit of his jeans and that same promise in his eyes. Eternity looks fucking amazing on him, and he knows. At this point, he could wear nothing but a bedsheet and he’d still be the most attractive being she’s ever seen—in fact, she might prefer that. Maybe later, if they make it home.

“I see you took the dress code to heart, love.” He drawls, his eternal smirk present, pulling her in by the waist for a searing kiss. Searing is an understatement, really. Each time he brings her in like this, close enough that she can taste his hunger—iron and ash—masked by the sweetness of rum just before their lips touch, she can feel parts of herself float away. The tensions and stresses from her day dissipate against his mouth, lost in each breath between them. Killian is a fantastic kisser and, as her tongue catches on the point of a fang, she knows that he knows it. 

“Hello to you too.” Fighting off breathlessness, Emma pulls away. They won’t make it to whatever it is he has planned if they keep kissing like that. The urge to call another Uber back home already far too prevalent in her mind. It would be so easy, like every other time, just falling into bed with him. 

He laughs, keeping his hand at her waist but allowing space between them. “I missed you.” 

“You saw me this morning,” She adds, a smile playing at her lips. Instead of pulling away and taking his hand like she usually does, Emma decides against taking him up on the offer of space. “I’ve been wondering about your date night plan all day.” 

“It’s... unconventional, to say the least.” 

She shrugs, lacing their fingers together. “So are we.” 

“Right you are, lass.” Killian’s smile takes her by surprise. It’s not his usual, cocky, self-assured grin. It’s pride, admiration and something warmer that settles in her stomach when she catches it. She pushes it aside, saving it for later as Killian meets her for another brief kiss. “Shall we?”

The warehouse itself is empty, a cavernous space with a creaking steel frame and concrete floors. Each step she takes causes an echo; each breath leaves a puff of condensation in the frigid air. Killian doesn’t seem swayed by this and walks them both across the expanse to a giant metal door, taking the rusted lever in hand and twisting it open with minimal exertion. It groans, hinges protesting as it creeps open, to reveal the cacophony of noise behind it. Thudding bass and warped vocals swelling and falling in time to the heavy beat. Upon entry, they’re met with writhing bodies, lost in the rhythm, crammed into what was once probably an industrial standard cold store. Despite everything, they make way for Killian to enter. 

Suddenly, Emma feels decidedly overdressed.

“A rave?” She has to shout to make herself heard, although, come to think of it, Killian probably has no trouble hearing her at all, regardless of the party going on around them. “I never expected this to be your kind of thing.” 

He winks then, before pulling her against him, his chest to her back. Emma’s breath catches in her throat, a moan prepared to escape at a second’s notice. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Swan.”

Like that, pressed together so close she can feel every breath he takes, she allows herself to get lost, the white noise numbing her senses to their basest needs. _Him._ Each time she pushes back, he rocks forward, eliciting the most delicious feelings from deep within. It’s intoxicating, being with him. Not the blood, nor the sex. Just being. Waking up to his touch, falling asleep to his breathing, making coffee, getting breakfast, talking, dancing—the small things. It’s always the small things. He treats her with veneration, a kind of reverence that no one else has, and—as much as she wishes she could deny it, that she could walk away from all this and still be the same old Emma—he’s changed her so irreversibly, she’s not sure what her life would be without him in it. 

They’re being watched—no, _she’s_ being watched. Eyes follow them—her as she moves, letting the music take her wherever it will. It courses through her like a second heartbeat, and the voyeurism of it all, familiar and unfamiliar faces flitting back to them—her as Killian trail’s his hands all over, his lips fused to her neck—it’s a heady mix. Whatever he’s got planned, whatever happens next, Emma knows that she’ll be sore in the morning. In the best way, of course. Freshly fucked and freshly drained. 

The music never seems to change, the pulse of it thrumming beneath her skin until she can feel the drop coming, inching closer until it reaches its peak. Her stomach falls along with it. He whispers in her ear, but she can’t make sense of his words, falling deaf in favour of the music around them. The caress of his lips on her lobe has her arching back, pressing her ass against him in a tease. She can feel how ready he is, solid against her as she grinds back into him. 

The guttural snarl, she can feel, reverberating through his chest on a silenced down beat. His hands go to her wrists, grasping them and tracing his fingertips up her thighs and over her stomach, devilishly slow, one catching over her nipple as he passes over her chest, continuing higher and higher until they’re held above her head, high in the air, alongside everyone else’s on the dancefloor. The music builds and builds and builds, heavy and palpable between them, cementing everyone together in one single goal: to dance. Killian presses a kiss to her ear, tongue darting out to tease as the music pauses for a second in the build-up to yet another drop.

 _“Don’t be afraid_.” 

Then the world goes red and she screams. 

Cheers erupt from around them as blood pours from the ceiling, sprinkling over the patrons below like a downpour after a drought. The crowd synchronise, palms to the sky, heads tilted back, mouths wide open and jumping along to the discordant thumping as they get their fill of the life source they’re being drowned in. It tastes like iron and chemicals, tacky and cool to the touch, nothing like what Killian had described when he tasted her. He’d compared her to fine wine, to love and sex and everything he missed of being human. Her hands, still held in the air by his grasp, are lined with rivulets of red, each one making its path wherever gravity may take it. The taboo of it has her shivering. Pulling her wrists free and turning to look upon his face, she places her palms on his chest. 

It’s chaos. 

He’s smiling. A wicked smile, white teeth and dark eyes. He could kill her right now. The recognition of that immediate danger only makes it so much better when he steps closer, eradicating the distance between them. 

_Fuck_. 

She wants him, _needs_ him, and when he leans to lick a stripe up her cheek to catch the dripping ichor there, she moans, losing herself to the sensation. He’s a monster and she can’t get enough. In all her life, she’d never anticipated that she’d enjoy such publicly lewd displays of affection but, as Killian laps at the pool of blood gathered above her clavicle, she could not give less of a shit about the hundreds of prying eyes in the room. It’s euphoric, feeling him hard against her as he feeds, taking his fill from the blood trailing over her skin. The familiar lick of her arousal curls low in her belly, demanding to be felt. 

She can't stand it—the absence of his lips against hers, tracing over every piece of exposed flesh except the place she wants him most, the chill it brings, the pleasure it ignites within her. There's nothing quite like it. It’s infuriating, maddening, and it reduces her to nothing more than a whimpering mess as his tongue makes its way back up her neck and along her jaw. He comes to a halt there, pausing and pulling back to take her in. He’s fucked, hair soaked through in the initial pandemonium of the bloodbath, eyes glossy and intense but not as dark as they had been earlier, his ocean blue peering through—it only goes to prove the effect he sustenance he’d laved from her flesh is having. He’s covered in blood, completely drenched with it and he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Even like this, surrounded by creatures of nightmare and legend, she can’t help but crave him. With lips parted, he leans in to give her what she desires.

“ _I fucking love you._ ” It’s a whisper against her lips, punctuated with fangs tugging on the plump skin there and—well, Emma can’t help herself. It’s not the first time he’s said it and it won’t be the last. Killian Jones has walked the earth for three centuries. He kisses with purpose, fucks with passion and loves unconditionally and Emma Swan, with almost three decades under her belt, can’t find the words to say it back. Not yet. Instead, she throws her arms around his neck, finding his lips with a kiss as the blood rain falls around them and the tantalizing beat drives the crowd. 

The kiss is wild; deep, needy and feral in its urgency. It’s fangs and moans and tongues and teeth. It’s messy, the cloying copper taste of blood still lingering between them. It’s perfect. 

Before Emma can even think to protest, Killian’s hoisting her up, lifting until her legs are securely wrapped around his waist. Tonight was not the night to wear a skirt but Emma can’t bring herself to regret it. She can already feel it riding up, threatening to expose her ass to the crowd. It’s a blessing she’d opted to wear underwear at all, especially knowing that Killian has a habit of tearing them off in his haste to get to her core. The sharp scratch of his fangs against her bottom lip snaps them both out of their lustful haze for just long enough for Emma to know without words what it is he wants. His gaze, hungry as ever, flits to her chest. 

Her shirt’s gone in seconds, torn off by her own impatient hands and his dexterous ones. It comes away in two pieces, thrown aside without a care, revealing the black lace of her bra beneath. It had cost her thirty dollars but, sat at his waist, skin tinted red with the sanguine rainfall, Emma can't bring herself to care. The caress of sharp fangs against the swell of her breast, edging her closer and closer to madness yet grounding her at the same time, tethering her to him, is almost too much. She needs the bite just as much as he does. The call of it strikes deep in her bones, screaming for him. She used to be ashamed of it, fearing just how much she enjoys his deadly kiss, but those memories are all but dust now. In their place, only want.

When he takes one look at her, right before his enamelled canines pierce her skin, she's lost to him.


End file.
